I have dotted the i
and crossed the t
and drawn from dot to dot.

I have fought the bit
and jumped the traces.
I have wandered from the lot.

I have colored well within the lines
and have greatly smudged the page.

I have growled within contentment
and laughed within my rage.

And now I find
no distinction in "kind"
except where "i" perceives discernment.
Within the cell that I call "i"
where passes "my" internment.

It is not "my" fault
that "drunkenness"
taste so much like "enlightenment"
I am not to blame
that "Awakening's" name
bears a woman's scent.

or...anything else you may have.

I am a male
pink and soft pasteled

I am a female
musky
and greasy from crank case drippings

I relish excess
while embracing lacking.
Knowing that if there were no "lacking"
"lacking" would be lacking.

...and so...
I hunger and I eat...
Knowing...
That with the seeming presence
of "lacking"...
ALL is complete

ahsweet serenity

It's all gravy, baby

wit giblets

***